


An Alternate Future

by Letummordre



Series: Cursed // Marked // Ghost [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 16:58:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13979544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Letummordre/pseuds/Letummordre
Summary: An old prompt back when I used to be a part of the Dragon Age subreddit: "Champions Of The Just/In Hushed Whispers- The companion pov of either the reveal of Envy or that moment when Dorian/Inquisitor gets shoved into the future."Or: Equinox and Dorian don't entirely have the best first impressions.





	An Alternate Future

**Author's Note:**

> I'm placing this here because I'd rather have my work associated with AO3 than the subreddit. Enjoy!

There’s an odd feeling like his entire body is being compressed, pressure squeezing him from every side until they’re falling and he hits something hard. He and the Inquisitor both tumble into… water?

 _Filthy_  water, even. What a bother.

The Inquisitor snarls at him, putting distance between them as he gets back to his feet. He’s a giant, especially in comparison to other elves he’d seen in Tevinter. All white hair, golden eyes and limbs. Looking at him, Dorian is struck for the first time that maybe some elves  _are_  total savages, though the one he’d been with at Redcliffe seemed far less touchy.

“What is this place?” The Inquisitor asks, turning toward one of the lit sconces on the wall. His eyes shine back the light, turning an eerie bright lit green.

It never ceases to be odd to see. Everything about the Inquisitor just screams ‘danger’, compared to every other elf he’s ever met.  _Be careful with this one, Dorian._

“Looks like Redcliffe. Only with… a lot more red lyrium.”

The Inquisitor doesn’t say anything to this, but he does sigh loudly and pull his pack free to rummage through. “Put on a real shirt, will you?” He asks, shoving fabric at him. “With all this water, it’s bound to get colder.”

“Ah and here I’d think you’d appreciate the view. I would, were I you.”

The Inquisitor lifts his upper lip at him again, looking entirely unimpressed. Hurtful, really. But perhaps he isn’t interested in men. It wouldn’t be anything new. “Put on the shirt.” He repeats, yanking the pack closed and reattaching it to the harness he’s fastened his bow to.

He hates to admit the Inquisitor is right. It does get colder, even with the red lyrium giving off small pockets of heat as they pass by. For a moment he just wants to touch… but the Inquisitor keeps looking over at him with an utter death glare every time he gets a little closer.

“Your name is Lavellan?” Dorian asks, readjusting one of the straps on his shoulder.

“You can call me that.” The Inquisitor says, noncommittally.

“Is it not your real name?” Dorian asks pointedly, “They only ever call you Inquisitor Lavellan or Herald of Andraste on the roads, or around Redcliffe.”

“What does it matter to you?” He asks, flatly. “You’ll scuttle back to Tevinter when all of this is over. Your people don’t need to know who I am, nor do they care. And frankly, I don’t want them to care who I am.”

“Charming  _and_  friendly, I see.” Dorian rolls his eyes. “I told you  _my_  name, which is polite in my country.”

“Equinox. That’s my real name. A friend calls me Ghost. I have plenty of titles. I have names that served a purpose at one point in my life. I don’t know how  _any_  of that is useful to you.”

“There’s a thing called courtesy, you savage----”

The Inquisitor lifts a hand suddenly, going utterly still.

“What?” Dorian hisses, readying his staff. The Inquisitor is staring forward, eyes fixed at one single point that Dorian can’t quite figure out.

He silently unattaches his bow, docking it and aiming it at something in the distance. And Dorian sees it then, a venatori at the very end of the long hallway in front of them, standing on some large metal grating in the floor.

 _What has happened to this place?_  The entire place reeks of death. Staleness. A slow suffocation away from the world of the living. It makes his hands itch. Like he could use his necromancy to bring back this entire castle.

“There’s more of them.” Equinox says, very quietly. “They’re all going to rush us once the first goes down, be ready.”

“Right.” Only, how could he possibly know that? How did he even see the first venatori? “Do elves have some sort of superb vision?” He adds, as an aside.

Equinox releases the arrow, a loud shout echoing down the hall. Either from the man shot, or his companions. “Ask your slaves,” he says, and Dorian is sorely considering setting him on fire as well as the Venatori.

**Author's Note:**

> For the record, "savage barbarian" becomes a pet name of sorts in Nox and Dorian's semi-salty friendship later. In a similar vein, Nox refers to Dorian as a "slave owner" but it's mostly not malicious. Mostly. :| 
> 
> And no, they don't become a couple. Nox is committed to a Dalish hunter from the Lavellan clan who eventually becomes his life partner. ;) (Nox is not a Lavellan originally, he's from another clan that is entirely made up that I've fleshed out. (Which is why that tag says Equinox Vaharel)). 
> 
> Sorry for not allowing anon comments on this, it's for personal reasons.


End file.
